A Woman A Lover A Friend
by mrsProbie
Summary: Dean cheers Hermione up with red wine and some old vinyl records. Written for Kat Ducat's I'm Falling in Love... Again competition as well as the Minor Character Boot Camp.


**A/N: Written for Kat Ducat's I'm Falling in Love... Again competition as well as the Minor Character Boot Camp. ****Also, every artist listed is a favorite of mine (or at least someone I own an album by), and I recommend all of them whole-heartedly.**

_MCBC Prompt 19: Fingers_

_Strong as United Prompt: Blue_

There was a knock at the door, and Hermione glared up at it. Who dared disturb her sulking? She had been locked in her flat since 6:30 the night before. It had been a Friday, and she had fully intended on going the entire weekend without speaking to or even seeing another soul. Now this... _person_... was going to return her solitude for her. Despite the fact that she wasn't particularly in a social sort of mood, she turned the volume down on her record player- _oh, Ella_- and stalked to the door to see if it was something important and potentially demand to be left alone.

She was slightly surprised to see Dean Thomas standing at her door with an armful of vinyl records and a bottle of wine. "Erm..." Hermione said artfully.

"I heard Ella Fitzgerald," he offered in what was apparently supposed to be some sort of reasonable explanation. At her raised eyebrow and pursed lips, he continued. "The last time you listened to Ella this much and this loudly was when you and Ernie broke up, so I thought maybe you'd need some cheering up."

Although peeved that she was predictable and that he was, in fact, speaking to her when she did not wish to be spoken to, she had to admit that it was thoughtful. And Harry _had_ specified, when he'd told her, that she was under no circumstances to spend the weekend alone. Perhaps talking to Dean would help expedite the process of getting over Percy. Her lips quirking into a small smile, she opened the door further to let him in. As soon as he stepped inside, Hermione came to her senses, leaving the door and to pick things up in her living room.

"I'm really sorry," she said over her shoulder, bending down to pick up her blue scarf and a stray boot, "I just didn't expect company, you know..."

Dean laughed off her apologizes. "It's fine... you should see my place."

Upon having hung up her scarf, placed her shoes by the door, and pushed her hair back into a bun rather haphazardly, she was offered some of his wine. "I'd love a glass," she said, leading him to the kitchen. "What records have you brought?" Hermione asked as she pulled two red wine glasses down from a cabinet.

He handed them to her to peruse while he poured their wine. She was more interested than she'd expected to be as she thumbed through them- he was quite the Al Jolson fan, but there were other artists mixed in, more recent than the 1920s. He had a couple of Beatles albums, of course, but also some she'd never heard of- a 1960s boy band who looked suspiciously like they were attempting to emulate the Beatles (Every Mother's Son, the label read) and a 1950s black singer (Jackie Wilson) with an absurd hairstyle and a peculiar genre description.

Dean distracted her from her analysis of his musical choices by tapping her shoulder and trading her the stack of records for a glass of wine. "Do you like what you see?"

She was far too sober to read anything into the question other than what it asked on the surface and so replied, "I've never heard of some of these artists."

The right corner of his mouth twitched upwards into a smile. "Good; that means you won't go into it expecting anything in particular of them. I'm personally a big fan of Jackie Wilson," he said, his fingers tracing the edges of the cover for the album that had confused her. "Do you know him?" When she shook her head no, he asked if he could play the album. She, of course, said yes.

She settled into the couch to watch him switch the records out, noting the care with which he handled them. He genuinely respected them- funny, Percy had always just asked why she couldn't use a more convenient method of playing music. _No. _Tonight was not a night to think about Percy. Tonight was a night to sit and visit with an old friend.

Had she been friends with Dean, though? They'd been in the same House, she'd seen him on the run during the war, and they'd both come back to finish school and graduate, but had they actually been friends? She hadn't known of his appreciation for older music. She'd known he was a brilliant artist, but then, everyone had known that.

"Dean, why weren't we friends in school?" she asked before taking a sip of her wine. It was sweet, but with a hint of bitterness in the aftertaste; it was delicious.

"You were too intimidating," he answered simply as he settled into the couch. It was just next to the loveseat- they were at an angle to each other so someone sitting in either could rest their plate, drink, or feet on the coffee table while still being close enough to speak comfortably.

"Me? _Intimidating?_" Hermione barked a laugh. "More like intimidat_ed!_"

Dean now seemed genuinely surprised. "Why on earth would you be intimidated by me?"

"You're an artist! Artists are terrifying," she added knowledgeably. "People like me just don't know what to do with people like you."

He smiled now. "People like me have to convince people like you to do silly, nonsensical, 'artistic' things, and people like you have to play along."

"Why must people like me play along?" Apparently the record had been a single; the end had already been reached.

"So you don't live a boring life, of course!"

"Dance with me," Hermione said in lieu of pouring herself another glass.

He seemed unperturbed and entirely unsurprised by her request. "What song?"

She flipped through the records twice before deciding on the man she didn't recognize. "What does Jackie Wilson sound like?"

"Well, this is his early years, so there's this mixture of doo-wop sounds and bluesy sounds. He did a lot of love songs." Oh, _perfect_, Hermione thought to herself. Pick the uncomfortable one. "I think you'd like this song," he added, pointing to _A Woman A Lover A Friend_. "It feels a lot like what I've heard you listening to." She nodded that that would be okay, despite the butterfly feelings in her gut.

She set down and her glass and smoothed her sweater as he changed the records out, desperately wishing she had put on something prettier than plain jeans and said red sweater. When he turned around and smiled at her, though, and the beat of the opening to the song reached her ears, she stopped thinking about herself- Dean looked spectacular. As her arms reached over his shoulders and his around her waist, they began to sway.

The man began singing, and Dean was right- doowop meets blues, definitely. She looked up from his shoulder to tell him she thought so, but her words caught in her throat when she met his eyes. _I want somebody to hold my hand, _Wilson crooned, _somebody to love me and understand_. Hermione blushed slightly and looked down to the floor, and Dean laughed softly. _I want a woman. _She bit her lip, looking up. _I want a lover. _He winked, and it was her turn to laugh. _I want a friend. _

They continued on like this for what felt like hours, swaying gently in her living room, until another verse was reached. _I don't want a fancy gal,_ Dean mouthed with the artist, _with powder and paint._ He twirled her now, and she laughed as she spun, only to be pulled back against him suddenly. She was closer now than she had been before- she liked it. _And I don't want a woman, _Dean continued, _who thinks she's a saint. _They both chuckled through the next several lines.

_I want me a woman, _Dean murmured. _I want a lover, _Hermione sang. _I want a friend_, they finished together. The music faded out, and their gently spinning sway came to a stop. As if on instinct, they both leaned their heads forward, inching closer together. They stopped with their lips but centimeters apart, and Dean raised an eyebrow, his eyes questioning, as though asking for permission. Hermione gave a minuscule nod, and their lips met softly.

It wasn't a passionate kiss, but rather an exploratory one. In each other, in a little flat outside London, man and woman had found both lover and friend.


End file.
